


The day the rain was red

by Foxhunter342



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Dark, Flashbacks, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:46:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11842353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxhunter342/pseuds/Foxhunter342
Summary: The Vegas air tasted stale as Bryce sat on the top step of the porch, an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips, an empty bottle clenched in his hand.





	The day the rain was red

The Vegas air tasted stale as Bryce sat on the top step of the porch, an unlit cigarette hanging between his lips, an empty bottle clenched in his hand. Staring out into the night sky, a spectator might wonder what he was thinking about. But he wasn’t. Not thinking, exactly. Waiting.

Bryce heard the patio door behind him clank shut, announcing the arrival of company. Moments passed before the visitor announced their presence.

“You can still hear it can’t you”, the voice from behind him called out. Bryce didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that voice.

Bryce didn’t ask what “it” was. He knew he would get an answer soon enough.

“The city”. The voice continued. “Shhh… hear that?”

The Nevada night was practically silent, but Bryce knew. He _could_ hear it. He shut his eyes and there he was. New York City. The cabs honked at each other loud and long, inching forward in gridlock as pedestrians weaved in and out of the traffic, yelling into their phones about deals that should have been made and money that should have been wasted. A dance. A loudy, messy, perfect dance that Bryce never quite figured out how to do. Lost in memory of the sounds blaring on Broadway, Bryce startled when the voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Do they know?”

Bryce frowned and shut his eyes harder. If he tried hard enough he could smell it too. The stench of smoke and gasoline climbing up fire escapes and creeping down alleyways. The bitter coffee odor and gorgeous deli aromas mixing at every corner. The sweet scent of fried peanuts and soggy hot dogs outside the stadium that were too chewy but with enough mustard it didn’t matter.

The voice interjected his trance once again. “Do they know how much you miss it?”

Bryce’s eyes snapped open, angry. He flicked his cigarette out of his mouth and crushed it under his boot.

The voice, however, was unfazed. “Not that anyone would care. I mean Golden Boy, ten years in the majors, 4 for the New York fucking Yankees.” The voice whistled. “And a world series ring on top of that? The Face of Baseball-”

Bryce let out a grunt.

“Or excuse me, _former_ Face of Baseball. Throwing a pity party. All because of one pitch. One little injur-”

Bryce heard the glass shatter before his brain could register what he’d done, staring at the green shards from the bottle he’d just thrown at the patio screen. Like a dream. Bryce tried to shut his eyes, escape back to New York and the dancing cars and the fried peanuts and chewy hot dogs but all he saw was Red. Bright, angry Red.

From somewhere inside he heard Kayla calling his name but he couldn’t find the strength to move towards the door. She came flying out in her robe, a shaky fear in her voice as she ran onto the porch.

“Bryce what in the WORLD- When did you come out here?? Who… Who did this!?”

Bryce could only point. The voice. The one talking to him. This was his fault.

“Bryce what are you pointing at??” Kayla spun wildly to look in the direction he was pointing.

“It was him” Bryce croaked, still pointing.

“Bryce. I need you to look at me. Look around you.”

Bryce finally looked up. The porch was empty except for the two of them.

He dragged his gaze up to meet Kayla’s, and for the first time that night, he saw the wild fear in her eyes. A fear that Bryce had only seen once before in his life.

“Bryce, are you… are you okay?”

Those words. Bryce shut his eyes and he was there again, New York City. But this time there were no dancing cars or rushing pedestrians or sweet smelling fried peanuts. This time he was on the field. Laying down. And everything hurt.

~

They say that he closed his eyes. When it hit him. It had to be true, because all he remembers from the pitch is Red. Bright, angry Red.

But then suddenly everything was white, the hospital ceiling and the lab coats and the squeaky floors that all melted together into one White, dream-like hell. He couldn’t remember how long he was under or how many doctors came and went or how teammates rubbed his back or if he even saw his family. He could only remember one thing: those eyes. Kayla’s eyes. Eyes that haunted Bryce’s nightmares for months because until then it had never really sunk in. Until he saw the raw fear and pity and _pain_ in those eyes it never sunk in that it was all over.

Every night since The Game Bryce had the same nightmare. Well, not the exact same. Sometimes he would be standing in the middle of a field, alone. Sometimes it would be Christmas morning. One time he had just won the World Series- But they all ended the same. He would look up and there they were: those eyes. He would try to run, or yell, or shut his eyes, but it didn’t matter. Suddenly everything would hurt and it was all over and he would wake up. Screaming.

But this wasn’t one of his nightmares because here he was, standing on his front porch, a shattered bottle by his feet, staring straight into those eyes and he wasn’t waking up.

~

One moment Bryce was standing on the porch and the next moment he wasn’t. Kayla had somehow heaved him inside, onto the couch, and there Bryce sat, staring at the fireplace. Some part of his brain registered Kayla in the kitchen talking in a hushed tone on the phone to someone- his doctor, probably- but over the crackling of the fire Bryce could only make out a few words.

“... broken bottle... scared… talking to himself... ”

Part of him knew he should say something. That he was okay. That he wasn’t okay. Something. But instead he just sat there. Not thinking, exactly. Waiting.

“Look what you did”.

Bryce shut his eyes. Not again. He looked over to kitchen. Kayla’s back was turned as she spoke softly into the phone and scribbled something down on a notepad.

The voice continued. “Who knows what she’ll do now. Probably get you sent back to that hospital.”

Bryce had enough. “How did you get in here?” he croaked sharply.

But before the voice could respond, Bryce heard someone let out a sharp scream just before Kayla called his name and rushed in from the other room. As she reached for the thick gauze bandage around his head, Bryce shut his eyes and for the last time that day, everything was Red.


End file.
